Til It Bleeds Daylight
by KatelynStark
Summary: Set btwn S7/8. They defeated Dick Roman, but Dean has been missing for months. Sam is trying to figure out what he's gonna do now when he is kidnapped and held against his will, drugged into submission by a stranger with a nefarious end-game who plays with him until Sam barely recognizes himself. When they reunite, can the brothers figure out how to put the pieces back together.
1. Chapter 1

Sam sat at the bar staring blankly at the wooden surface under his glass. It was his third night in a row at his neighbourhood roadhouse, lost in the comforting fugue of a good buzz.

A full glass slid in front of his unfocused gaze, and he looked up to see Carl the bartender smiling down at him.

"Thought you could use a fresh one." He inclined his head toward the glass in Sam's grasp. "That one must have gone flat from you staring at it for so long."

Sam said nothing but released his grasp on the pint glass and took the replacement. He then raised it in a toast to Carl and downed half of it. He knew he should go back to the motel, back to figuring out what the fuck he was gonna do with his life now that Dean was gone. He'd taken a long break, but could he really leave hunting behind for good? Live a normal life like he'd promised Dean?

Sam's eyes swam suddenly, the room blurring and swirling before his eyes, and he realized he'd definitely drunk more than he thought he had. He'd better get back to the motel and relieve Mrs. Winters from dog sitting duties. He stood up and the room tilted, forcing him to sit back down in a hurry.

Carl looked at him in concern. "You okay there, big guy?"

"I sink you shud call meacab," Sam slurred, surprised at the sound of his own voice and even more surprised at how difficult it was to form words. Wow. He hadn't been this shit-faced in a long time. He tried to stand up again and stumbled, knocking over a cascade of bar stools. He looked around him, ready to apologize to the other patrons but the bar was empty. How long had he been there?

"Whoa there, big fella," Carl cautioned as Sam continued to careen into furniture. "Let me give you a hand. Here, I've got a cot in the back. Maybe you should lie down for a bit before you go. You were hitting it pretty hard tonight."

"But my dog...Mrs. Winters..."

"I'll give her a call. I'm sure he's okay there overnight."

Carl guided a stumbling Sam down the hallway to the storage room where a small cot was made up with sheets amongst the shelves of bar supplies. He helped Sam sit then stretch out his massive frame on the tiny bed.

"Thanks, man," Sam smiled a sloppy, grateful grin at his new friend. "You're a great guy, Carl. I mean it," he reinforced over Carl's protestations that he was just doing his job. "You're a great guy..." The sentence trailed off into snores.

Carl's eyes flashed black as he regarded the sleeping form. "Yeah, Sam. I'm a fucking saint."

The demon reached into his back pocket and pulled out a syringe. They'd said the Rohypnol he'd been dosing Winchester with all night should be enough to take out a moose, but Carl wasn't risking this particular moose waking up angry during transport. He pushed the needle into the thick muscle at Sam's shoulder and depressed the plunger.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam awoke on the floor in a dark room. His head was pounding and the room spun when he tried to sit up. He lay back down quickly on the unforgiving concrete floor and it all spun again. When the vertigo stopped, he tried to assess his situation. Where was he? How did he get here? And most importantly, how was he getting out?

He slowly moved all his body parts and patted down his torso to check for injuries. He seemed to be in one piece other than his fucking head. Fuck, how much had he had to drink?

Drink.

Fuck.

The bar.

Carl.

Fuck.

He'd been drugged.

He groaned at his stupidity, then another thought hit his addled brain. Shit! The dog! Mrs. Winters was going to be furious with him for leaving Dog with her, and he could only imagine what the cute, angry vet was going to say about him abandoning his responsibility. He slumped down and pressed his forehead into the cool, stone floor until oblivion overtook him again.

When he woke up the second time he was able to sit up without the room spinning too much. His mouth was dry and thick and he felt around on the floor to see if there might be anything to drink nearby. There was nothing within reach so he crawled gently forward, holding out a hand so he didn't accidentally brain himself on the wall. He found the wall just a few feet away then mapped out the perimeter of the room - his cell - on his hands and knees.

He was in an 8x8' room with a single dead-bolted door. There was no light source, not even from under the door. He felt around the edges but the hinges were on the other side (that kind of error on behalf of his captors would have required luck the Winchesters just didn't have). He banged on it weakly and tried to make his parched voice work.

"Hello? Please. I don't know why you have me here, but could I please have some water. Hello? Water? Please!"

Nothing. After about 5 minutes of yelling and pounding on the door, his body gave out and he slumped back to the floor in the corner.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, the waking hours agonizing in their discomfort and boredom, and the sleeping ones not much better. Sam gradually weakened as no-one arrived to give him food or water. His tongue swelled in his mouth and his throat was so dry he couldn't even make the pathetic attempts at yelling anymore. He eventually relieved himself in the corner of the room, feeling shame and disgust. He covered the mess with his underwear, which seemed the least important piece of clothing for warmth on the cold floor.

How long had he been here? It had to have been several days, at least, considering how desperately dehydrated he was getting. He lay on the floor and thought for the first time that he just might die here. No chance to fight his way out. No Dean to rush in for the rescue. As his body became weaker and weaker, he shifted his aching frame on the unforgiving floor and thought that maybe slipping off to sleep for good wouldn't be so bad.

Sam barely came to as bright lights shone in his eyes, blinding him after unknown hours in the dark. Rough hands lifted him from the floor and he was unable to put up any resistance as they slipped a dark bag over his head and dragged him from his cell. He legs wobbled underneath him when he tried to put any weight on them, so he let himself be dragged.

He was unceremoniously dumped on a different floor, and he heard the latch click locked behind him as he tried to croak out a plea for help, for water. He thought he was hallucinating when he heard his favourite voice in the world.

"Sam?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Sam? Holy shit, Sam. That _is_ you."

The familiar growl was like a soothing balm for Sam's aching head. He felt the rough bag lifted from his head, and he was blinded again by the bright lights in the room. He shaded his eyes and tried to focus on the figure in front of him. Could it really be him? Sam wanted to cry in relief but he was too dehydrated to produce tears.

"Dean." It wasn't so much a word as a guttural croak.

"Oh, God, Sam. What have they done to you?"

Sam felt familiar hands lift him from the floor and mostly carry him across the room. When his knees hit a bed, he sat then lay down into its comforting softness. He felt Dean move away from him and he tried to cry out again after his brother but this croak was even quieter than the first one.

"Shh, Sam. It's okay. I'm here," Dean reassured him as he returned, and held a cup to Sam's lips. "Drink up, Sam. Whoa! Not too fast."

Sam gulped gratefully at the water but was barely able to swallow and much of the fluid ran down the front of his filthy shirt.

"Small sips, Sam. Just hold a little in your mouth then swallow." Dean took charge of the cup, giving Sam tiny portions at a time. "Shit, Sam. What the fuck? How long have you been here?"

Sam attempted to croak out an answer but immediately started coughing.

"Never mind. We'll talk later. Right now, drink. Then we're gonna get you in the shower. You reek, dude."

Sam looked around the room, seeing more of it as his eyes adjusted to the light. His new surroundings included a comfortable - oh so comfortable! - bed, couches, a table and chairs, and what looked like a bathroom through a side door. He had so many questions - about Dean, about the change in accommodations - but he was so glad to be here on this soft bed, with his brother and water, that he decided that all that was a problem for future Sam.

With some concerted effort on his and Dean's part, Sam managed to drink a large glass of water, and then a small amount of what tasted like some sort of sports drink. He lay back on the pillows, closed his eyes, and started to doze off until Dean grabbed him and shook him awake.

"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. You can get some rest very soon, but I'm not letting you stink up our only sheets. You're having that shower if I have to hold you up myself."

Sam groaned and attempted to bury himself in the pillows, but he was no match for his older brother in his weakened state, and Dean easily hauled him off the bed and through the door to the bathroom. Dean sat Sam on the toilet seat as he got the water running at a good temperature, then took over undressing Sam as the younger man fumbled uselessly at his buttons.

Once Sam was naked, Dean stripped off his own clothes.

"If I've got to hold you up, I'm not getting my stuff soaked," he replied to Sam's shocked expression. "It's not like you've never seen me naked before, Sam."

Too exhausted to argue, Sam let himself be led into the warm spray. Dean propped him against a wall and proceeded to hose him down with the handheld shower head. He then shampooed and scrubbed Sam the same way he had when they were younger and Sam was completely exhausted by a hunt, but too covered in blood or goo of some kind to go to bed without cleaning up. Sam relaxed into his older brother's ministrations, nearly falling asleep again under the soothing heat of the water and Dean's hands until Dean squeezed some soap into his palm.

"You're gonna have to wash downstairs yourself," he instructed.

Once he was clean and dry, Dean helped Sam into a pair of pyjama bottoms, made him drink some more water, and tucked him into the soft bed.

"Dean, how..." Sam started to ask, but his brother shushed him.

"Sleep now, Baby Bro. We'll talk in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam crawled back to consciousness, fighting the entire way. He wanted to stay in the sweet, comfortable depths of darkness and sleep, but the smell of food dragged him out forcefully. The aroma of fresh bacon assaulted his senses and his empty stomach lurched. He leaned suddenly over the side of the bed to be sick, but he had nothing in his stomach to vomit up.

"No, Dean. Bacon bad!" he muttered, pressing his face against the mattress.

"C'mon, Sam, you've got to get your strength back up." Dean waggled a couple crispy strips at his younger brother who dry heaved again. "Yikes! Sorry, kiddo. I had no idea it would make you hurl. Pancakes?" He gestured to the table which was laden with what amounted to a breakfast buffet. "Fruit? Oatmeal?"

Once he stopped retching, Sam acquiesced to a small amount of fruit and oatmeal, knowing he needed to eat. He was ravenous but ate very little. After what felt like 4 days or so without anything in his stomach, he had to take it easy, but he carefully drank two glasses of water with his meal to ease the dehydration he could still feel in his joints and lower back.

Sam sat back and regarded his older brother who was powering through an epic Dean-style breakfast based primarily around pork. "So where are we? How long have you been here? How did you get here? How do we get the fuck out of here?"

"Slow down, Sammy. Sorry, I mean Sam."

Sam smiled thinly then got up on shaky legs while Dean explained how he'd found himself in their prison after he'd ganked Dick Roman. Sam stretched his slim but muscular frame. His 6-pack was even more obvious after the days of deprivation though the muscles in his back still rippled above the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He wandered over to a stereo system and picked up the ipod and started scrolling through the music.

"It's weird, because this isn't so bad. I mean," Dean explained, indicating their surroundings. "We are being held captive for some reason, but at least our jail is nicer than a lot of places we've spent time on purpose. Plus," he acknowledged the music player, "even though it's on one of those douchey things, we've got Metallica."

Sam sighed.

"What?" Dean asked. "You pretend not to like them, but they really are the best band of the twentieth century..."

"You're not him," Sam stated flatly.

"What? What do you mean, Sam? I'm not who?"

Sam sighed again. "You're not him. You're not my brother. You're not Dean."

Dean walked toward the younger man, who backed up at his approach, wobbling on unsteady legs. "Sam. C'mon. You're not yourself. You were half-dead of thirst. Of course I'm your brother. Who else could I be?"

"You keep calling me Sam. He calls me Sammy."

Dean stopped his approach. "But you hate being called Sammy."

"Yeah, I do. He does it anyway and would never apologise for it. That's what makes him Dean. You're not Dean. Plus..." he held up the ipod and showed Dean the photo he'd just taken with the device's camera. The photo that showed the retinal flare of a shapeshifter wearing Dean's face.

The creature swore and banged the table with his fist. "Shit. You know, I kept wanting to call you Sammy and kept correcting myself because he knows you hate it." The shifter looked up to the cameras in the ceiling. "The jig is up, folks. Time for plan B." He looked at Sam and an expression of malice crossed his beautiful features. "I thought we were going to do this the easy way, but turns out not so much. I don't really mind, though, considering what you did to my father."

"Your father?"

"The Alpha. You and your son-of-a-bitch grandfather helped Crowley get his filthy hands on him, and now he's dead. And now you'll pay. You have no idea how you'll pay."

The door at the end of the room flew open and four large men entered. They overpowered Sam easily in his weakened state and hauled him to the bed. Straps Sam hadn't previously noticed were quickly applied to his wrists and ankles, as well as one across his abdomen, holding him securely to the bed.

"You've got me here, helpless. Why don't you just kill me?" Sam asked, struggling vainly at his bonds. "I spent an eternity in the cage with Lucifer. There's pretty much nothing you can do to me that hasn't been done before. They couldn't break me and neither can you."

The shapeshifter approached the bed with a knife in his hand and traced lazy circles across Sam's bare abdomen with the tip of the blade. "Oh, Sammy," he emphasised the name, "what fun would killing you be?" He slipped the blade under the waistband of Sam's pants and the helpless man's breath caught. "I may not break you, as you say, but I'll have fun trying. I have so many fun games to play with you." With that, the creature sliced the fabric of the pyjama bottoms from the waistband to the cuff on both legs then pulled them away, leaving Sam strapped naked on the bed.

Placing the knife on the mattress, the creature smiled and ran a hand up the inside of Sam's thigh. Sam squirmed, horrified, trying to get away from the questing fingers, but the straps held him firmly. The shapeshifter smiled maliciously and brushed his fingertips against Sam's limp prick.

"No! God, no! Stop!" Sam cried, struggling against his restraints, closing his eyes against the vision of his green-eyed brother touching him that way. "It's not Dean. It's not Dean," he chanted quietly.

"What, Sammy? Don't you like it when big brother touches you like that?" the shapeshifter taunted in Dean's signature growl.

"Get off! Fuck! Stop!" Sam kept his eyes squeezed shut and continued chanting, "You're not him. You're not Dean."

"What about when he does this?" He stooped his head and took Sam's flaccid member in his mouth, sucking deep and rolling the soft skin on his tongue.

Sam screamed like a wounded animal and thrashed desperately to get away from the wet heat engulfing him, but it was useless; he was bound too tightly. He was so weak from lack of food and water that he tired quickly and he lay helplessly weeping as Not Dean assaulted him with his mouth. His extreme fatigue was a blessing in that he stayed resolutely soft, even when the shapeshifter began to caress his balls and press into the sensitive area just behind them.

"Well," NotDean commented, pulling away from Sam's damp prick and wiping his mouth, wearing a look of acute disappointment, "don't you know how to bruise a guy's ego. We'll just have to try again tomorrow after you've had more of a rest." He moved away from the bed and gestured one of the men forward. "Hook up the IV. Let's get him fed and rested. He'll need lots of energy for what I've got planned for him."

Sam felt the pinch of a needle entering his wrist and a cool fluid travelling up his arm. He struggled to stay conscious but the medication quickly overpowered him. The last words he heard as he gave in to the darkness chilled him to the bone.

"Sweet dreams, Baby Brother."


	5. Chapter 5

Insistent beeping next to Sam's head woke him from his medically induced sleep. A blurry figure stood next to the bed adjusting the IV bags and Sam blinked a few times to clear his vision. His nurse was a pretty blonde woman, maybe 25 years old, with long hair and pink lips that widened in a smile when she saw he was watching her.

"There you are, Sugar," she drawled with a slight Southern twang. "How're you feelin'? Your colour's better than it was last night." She moved next to his arm and expertly removed the IV from his wrist, gently pressing a cotton ball to the area.

"I'd be feeling a lot better if I wasn't..." Sam struggled against his bonds. His wiggling suddenly reminded him that he was lying completely naked on the bed and he blushed as the pretty nurse's eyes grazed over his body.

"Well now. The boss said it would be okay for me to let you out to eat if you promise to behave. Can ya do that for me, Sugar? Because he also said it would be me that paid the price if you misbehaved," she trembled a little at that. "I really didn't know what I was getting into when I applied for this private nursing job, and I've got kids and their daddy's a no-good drunk, so if anything happens to me..."

Sam cut her off, "I'll behave." He promised, staring intently into her blue eyes as he spoke.

She smiled again and a little flutter of her hands expressed her relief as she moved forward to unshackle first his legs, the band around his abdomen and finally, his hands.

Sam stretched his aching muscles slowly then looked around to find something to cover himself with as the pressure on his bladder caused someone downstairs to stand to attention.

She looked away considerately, "Don't mind me. In nursing, I've seen it all. The boss says you're too pretty to cover up." She giggled a little at that.

Sam looked pained and blushing even redder, walked carefully to the bathroom, which he was horrified to discover had no door. Thinking it wasn't possible to be more embarrassed than he currently was, he relieved himself, washed up and returned to the main room where breakfast, and NotDean, had arrived. The pretty nurse was gone.

"Good morning, little brother," the shapeshifter greeted, munching absently on a piece of toast. His eyes dragged slowly over Sam's naked body and came to rest on his groin. "Correction. Make that not-so-little-brother." His face broke into Dean's appraising, appreciative smile and Sam shuddered over how quickly this thing was aping Dean's characteristics.

"You are not my brother. You are NotDean," Sam replied flatly, attempting to cover his nakedness with his hands, and then sitting down quickly at the table so the flat surface would give him a little coverage. "And could I please have some fucking pants, NotDean?"

"Sammy! Manners," NotDean scolded.

"Don't call me that. Only he gets to call me that," Sam muttered to the table.

The creature's indulgent smile ended abruptly. He stood up quickly, chair tumbling to the floor behind him. He walked to Sam's side and sank his fingers deep into the crease below Sam's jaw, turning the younger man's face up to meet his own. "You will watch what you say to me from now on, and you will watch how you say it. I will not put up with the sulky bullshit Dean has to endure from you. You have no idea how annoying you are, do you? No wonder Dean keeps throwing himself into harm's way. He's just trying to get away from you."

The shifter laughed cruelly at Sam's shocked expression, then his face got hard again, and he gripped Sam's chin even harder. "I am bnot/b fucking around here," he snarled. "If you don't cooperate, if you disobey me, if you act like a sullen little bitch, if you call me NotDean one more fucking time, someone is going to get really hurt." He waved up to the raft of monitors. "I think Sammy here needs a demonstration."

Sam's eyes widened in panic when he saw the pretty nurse appear on the screen, held roughly by a large man. She was clearly terrified, eyes bulging above the hand clamped over her mouth.

"Now I know you and your brother have no sense of self-preservation, so threatening you is pretty much useless," the creature explained. "I also know that you're so fucking obnoxiously noble that you have to protect those weaker than you." He called out to the man on the monitor, "Maybe just the pinky and ring finger. On her left hand. We still need her to be able to work," the thing wearing his brother's face commanded.

The thug on the screen reached down and Sam heard the muffled scream as the man quickly snapped two of the woman's fingers. She went white and collapsed with the pain and the screen went black again.

ShapeshifterDean turned back to Sam, fingers pressing bruises into the younger Winchester brother's skin. "Have I made myself clear, Sammy?"

Sam felt sick and helpless. "Yes."

The creature smiled malevolently and pressed his mouth to Sam's in a slow kiss, and it took every ounce of Sam's willpower not to recoil and punch the evil son-of-a-bitch in the face.

"Yes, what, Sammy?" NotDean asked, pulling back, his lips just millimetres from Sam's.

Sam closed his eyes for a second and bit his bottom lip, tasting blood to stop himself from crying. "Yes, **Dean**."


	6. Chapter 6

Time passed in a blur. Sam often didn't see anyone, not even ShapeshifterDean, for what felt like days at a time. It was so difficult to keep track of the time without any view of the outside, but his keepers turned the lights on and off in his cell in what felt like a daily cycle of hours. The blonde nurse continued to administer IVs to him at night and he watched as her broken fingers healed and returned to normal over a period of weeks. He tried to apologise several times, but she just shook her head and looked at the floor. She wouldn't speak to him other than to ask him medical questions or give him instructions so eventually he stopped trying.

He was given a few pairs of sweatpants and pyjama bottoms but no shirts. Since the room was generally warm he didn't kick up a fuss. His cell had a great selection of books and DVDs, so he spent much of his time reading or watching movies. He even came across a variety of skin mags and pornographic videos, which he was too embarrassed to look at initially. Eventually the need was great enough that he covered himself with a towel as much as possible before beating off in the bathroom.

He did some general workouts to keep himself fit and sane but without proper weights he knew he was losing a lot of muscle mass. He spent some time casing the room, trying to assess where there might be weaknesses in the security that would aid his escape but every time he got even remotely close to the single entrance to the room a voice would boom over the loudspeaker instructing him to back off or someone would face the consequences.

Sometimes the creature wearing his brother's face would spend time in the room with him, reading and chatting casually, as if he wasn't holding Sam against his will in some strange bunker, torturing innocent women to keep him in line. Sam didn't know what to think but as long as NotDean (he could call him that in his own head) kept his hands, and mouth, to himself, Sam accepted his company. Because he had access to Dean's memories and thoughts, it was remarkably like hanging out with his brother, and sometimes Sam almost forgot it wasn't Dean. Almost.

He knew they were drugging him, other than the very obvious IVs that took him to blessed oblivion overnight. He just felt so calm all the time. Maybe it was in the food, but he couldn't very well not eat. And the shapeshifter definitely had his number, knowing that Sam would do whatever it took to protect an innocent like his nurse. He found that he was docile and accepting of instruction, and it got to the point that he didn't care about the cameras that were obviously everywhere surrounding him, performing bodily functions and jerking off in the shower without embarrassment.

He was stretched out on the couch reading one afternoon when the monitors came on around him. There was only sound at first, sighs and grunts, and he looked around confused until the screen came into focus and he saw a woman on her knees blowing Dean, his fingers tangled in her mane of long, dark hair as he fucked her mouth. Dean's back was arched and his head thrown back in pleasure as he thrust in and out, abs rippling with the exertion. iWhat the fuck?/i

Sam looked down, completely horrified by the scene. Why were they showing him porn starring his brother - well, not his brother, but the man wearing his brother's skin? The moment he looked down, he realized the coffee table surface was also showing the images. He glanced around the room and nearly every flat surface was a screen. His brother's naked, thrusting body everywhere he could see. Sam tried closing his eyes but the volume increased when he did and soon the sighs, grunts, and moans flooded his brain.

When he reluctantly opened his eyes again, Dean was on his back and the girl was riding him reverse cowboy, her tits bouncing with her movements. Sam felt an uncomfortable stirring in his pants, and he desperately tried to think of the least sexy things he could while he watched NotDean fucking the buxom brunette, and, oh fuck, was he fingering her ass?

Mostly erect now, Sam tried to focus on gross monsters they'd fought and killed over the years, that 3rd grade teacher with the nasty, hairy mole on her cheek, various spells and incantations, but it wasn't working. He was hard and getting harder by the moment. If he just didn't have to listen to it, he might be okay, but he'd become used to the sound of his brother's breathy cries over the years in countless hotel rooms, and as much as it shamed him, it had always gotten him hard.

They changed position again on the screen and now the girl was on all fours, Dean pounding her pussy from behind. The sharp slap of skin on skin echoing through Sam's chamber. Sam pressed his hand to his crotch, trying to quell the sensation but all it did was reinforce how much he needed relief. Fuck! He rubbed the obscene tent in his pants through the fabric, moaning with desire and shame. It was so wrong that this was getting him so hard, but Sam tried to justify that it was just porn. He was just having a very normal male reaction to porn. And it wasn't really his brother on the screen, right?

That was going to have to be good enough. Sam pulled the sweats down to his hips and spat into his hand before grabbing his aching cock. He stroked hard and fast. This wasn't about pleasure, it was just about relief. Within minutes, he came all over his stomach and chest at the same time as Dean sprayed his load across the ass of the petite brunette.

_I'm so sorry, Dean_, Sam intoned silently as he regarded the mess on his belly with horror and bowel-clenching shame.

"I'm glad you liked the show, Sammy." Fake Dean's voice startled Sam and he looked up to see the creature regarding him directly through the monitor, absently stroking his still-hard member, "because sometime soon, it's gonna be your ass I'm pounding, and you're gonna come screaming my name."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam's days continued to blend into one another with video interludes of Dean and random girls becoming the norm. He fought really hard for the first two weeks to resist reacting to the images and sounds, to prevent him from getting hard watching his brother's body bending and sweating and plunging into girl after girl. He sometimes held out as long as a couple hours before he stroked himself to release, always with a silent apology to his brother. On those days they'd continue to play the images long after Sam lay huddled on the couch, spent and sick with shame, sometimes even waking him in the night with the sound of his brother's moans and growls. Eventually, Sam just pulled his dick out when his screens lit up, jerking himself methodically as his body became attuned to the sight and sounds of all Dean, all the time.

His hunter's instincts were obviously dimming with the drugs they were pumping through him because he nearly jumped out of his skin one afternoon when he felt a hand brush against his leg as he jacked himself to NotDean's latest conquest. One of the blonde girls he recognized from the Dean Porn was standing next to the couch in a bra, g-string, and knee-high, platform, fuck-me boots.

She gestured toward the raging hard-on he was desperately trying to cover up. "I could help you with that," she offered, and before Sam could respond, she'd pushed his hands away and engulfed his cock in the wet heat of her mouth.

Sam's back arched off the couch at the intense pleasure. Fuuuck. It must have been 6 months since he'd had a hot, sweet mouth on him - he did not count the horrific encounter with Shapeshifter Dean when he first arrived. His brain wanted him to push her away - he'd never even met her, he should at least know her name - but his body had a totally different opinion, and he found himself simply losing himself in the pleasure. Before he knew it, he was shooting hard and fast down her welcoming throat.

He opened his eyes as she pulled off, licking up any residual come with her talented, pink tongue. He smiled bashfully.

"Um, thank you, um..?"

"Lola," she replied, leering admiringly at his naked frame.

"Um, thank you, Lola." Sam's dimples emphasized his nervous grin. "I'm, um, Sam?" He looked puzzled that his voice chose to intone that as a question and cleared his throat. "That was really nice." Nice? What the fuck, Sam? She didn't just serve you a glass of wine. She fucking blew you within five fucking seconds of fucking meeting you. "I mean..."

She popped a piece of gum in her mouth as he stammered and blushed, regarding him with an alarmingly disaffected stare. She blew a bubble before snapping it in her teeth, mercifully cutting him off.

"I just do what I'm paid to do, Hon, and I wish it was always to someone who looks like you." Sam blushed further and pulled his pyjamas up to cover his softened member before running his fingers nervously through his hair. "See you 'round." She called the last sentence over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

More days passed with more pretty girls with warm, wet mouths. Sometimes there were even two women who came to him, and he got to kiss or lick or suckle or finger one while the other swallowed him down. He gradually gave himself over to the hedonistic pleasure of these encounters, as these bright spots were the only things that were keeping him from sinking into a deep pit of despair as time ticked on and there was no sign of escape or rescue.

He was startled out of his routine one afternoon when it was a guy who entered his room. Sam was lying stroking himself lazily on the bed, surrounded by projected images of NotDean slamming into a stunning redhead. Sam tried in vain to cover himself as the man approached, backing up the bed and stuttering in alarm.

"Hello, Sam. My name is Ethan. I'm here to pleasure you." The youth was in his early 20s, well-built in his boxer briefs. He had short spiky hair, green eyes, and he was dusted with freckles. In short, he resembled a young Dean not just a little.

"Um, no. That's okay," Sam blurted a little too loudly. "I'm not really feelin' it today. I think I'll just read or something," he finished, realizing how lame that sounded.

An expression of panic crossed Ethan's features, and he mouthed the words "please, I need the money" just as the loudspeaker came on asking him to return to the control room. The young man closed his eyes for a second then gave Sam a hard look before he steeled his shoulders and left the room.

Sam's stomach sank when he saw the look on Ethan's face as he left the room. Oh, fuck. What had he done? He got up and ran to the door, pounding hard and yelling, "I've changed my mind. I'm sorry. Please just send him back in." Sam kept pounding until his knuckles split then collapsed against the door. "Just don't hurt him," he said out loud, defeated.

He moved from his crumpled position only when the loudspeaker instructed him to do so, crawling back into the comfort of his soft bed. A moment later, Ethan entered the room again, pain contorting his attractive features. "I'm here to pleasure you," he said robotically.

Sam didn't see the lash marks on Ethan's back until the young man had climbed painfully onto the bed beside him.

"Oh, fuck. Man, I'm so sorry," Sam babbled, eyes filling with tears. "I didn't think-"

Ethan cut him off. "I am here to pleasure you," he repeated, gritting his teeth as he straddled Sam's legs and began to kiss and lick at Sam's limp prick.

Sam wanted to pull away - not just because it was a dude with his mouth wrapped around his dick, but because said dude was clearly in a lot of pain - but he held still and let the hot mouth envelop him. The weeping wounds on Ethan's back were a reminder that his captors wouldn't allow Sam any resistance and he didn't want to be responsible for any further injuries. Sam focused on the hottest things he could think of so as not to drag out the young man's discomfort, which was made surprisingly easy by Ethan's talented mouth, and much sooner than he would have believed, he was coming hard down the guy's throat.

"Could I please get a first aid kit to tend to Ethan's wounds?" Sam called out when his breathing returned to normal, placing a gentle hand on the Ethan's shoulder to stop him from leaving immediately. Sam frowned in puzzlement as the kid flinched under Sam's touch though he'd been careful not to brush against any of the wounded areas.

"Sure thing, Sammy," came NotDean's voice over the intercom, "but you're going to have to work for it. Why don't you repay the favour Ethan just did for you and then we'll let you patch him up."

Sam pursed his lips, the small muscles in his cheek fluttering in tension. He stared at his hands for a long moment, then a look of resolve crossed his features and he said, "Okay, fine. If that's what it takes."

He dropped to his knees in front of Ethan. "Is this okay?" he asked, looking up and running his large hands gently over the younger man's hipbones.

An odd look flickered in Ethan's green eyes. "It's your party," came the flat response.

Sam eyed him quizzically and the youth rearranged his features into a seductive smile before twisting his hips so Sam's hand brushed over his crotch. Sam cupped him through the stretch cotton and felt the bulge harden under his touch. He pressed his face to Ethan's flat abdomen and breathed in the guy's scent, trying to get his pounding heart under control. Then Sam slid the boxer briefs down and took the smooth, curved prick into his mouth.

He called on his memory and attempted to replicate the tongue strokes and suction that felt best when someone was blowing him on the younger man's cock. Sam had done this to a guy only once, and that was when he was a teenager, so he couldn't really recall enough to put that experience to use. Sam's jaw was aching by the time Ethan came, filling his mouth with a hot load. Sam swallowed awkwardly and planted a gentle kiss on Ethan's hip before he pulled back and stood up.

As Sam turned to the door about to call out, he noticed the first aid kit was already there. He pulled on some pants and walked over to the far wall to pick it up. Ethan had pulled up his underwear and Sam instructed him to straddle one of the dining chairs so he could lean on the back.

Sam emptied the contents onto the table and dug through until he found the supplies he needed. He was cutting strips of bandage with the scissors when Shapeshifter Dean's voice instructed him that he'd better see the scissors returned to the case before Sam gave it back. Sam gave the camera a mock salute with the metal implement and went back to tending to Ethan's wounds.

He put on rubber gloves and smoothed antibiotic cream gently into the angry welts before bandaging them as best he could. As he worked his way methodically across the younger man's back, Sam was reminded of the countless times he'd done a similar thing for Dean, and he felt such a sharp pang of loss for his brother he had to stop and catch his breath before he was able to finish binding Ethan's wounds.

Sam traced his fingers gently across Ethan's freckled shoulder before giving him a gentle pat to indicate he was finished. He was completely unprepared for the words the young man hissed in response, "You sick fuck."

"What?" was the only reply Sam could come up with, stunnd by the malice in Ethan's tone.

"They told me all about your kinky little game when they were whipping me - something they did not pay me enough to participate in, bee tee dubs. How you pay them to have you 'locked up' here then get them to provide boy toys for you to play with."

Sam stared open mouthed into those angry green eyes. "That is not-" he started.

Ethan interrupted, "If you want to blow guys in your kinky sex bunker, pretending you're forced to do it against your will, that's your deal. But to have them beaten so you can indulge your fucked up nurse kink and tend to the wounds? That is just disgusting. You sicken me."

Sam turned away and started packing up the first aid kit with shaking hands, reeling from Ethan's words. The kid believed Sam wanted him whipped like that because he got off on bandaging the wounds? Sam felt ill to his very core but kept up the mechanical actions so he didn't completely lose his shit. He very obviously placed the scissors on top of the first aid supplies. Whoever had checked the box contents had obviously missed the small, paper-wrapped razor blade he tucked under one of his rubber gloves as he balled them up and discarded them on the table. Sam closed the case and handed it to Ethan.

Raising himself up to his full height, Sam stared down at the younger man and snarled, "Get the fuck out of my sight," before he grabbed the balled up rubber gloves and strode into the bathroom.

Sam palmed the razor as he threw the gloves into the trash and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it, tucking the blade behind the shampoo bottle. He dropped trou and stepped under the scalding water trying to wash the filth he felt from his skin. A sob wracked his body before he even realized he was crying and he leaned against the tile wall, his body heaving with anger and grief and helplessness, then an abrupt, flat nothingness. He had no way to escape this hellhole, and Dean was clearly not coming for him. Sam tasted bile in his throat and suddenly he was emptying the contents of his stomach across the wall of the shower stall. When his stomach stopped roiling, Sam pressed his face to the cool tile and came to a decision.

Sam rinsed his sick down the drain and used the steam filling the small room as camouflage to grab the small blade as he sat down on the tile floor. He knew he didn't have much time. Hot water cascaded over his shoulders, and Sam whispered a quiet apology to his brother as he drew the sharp blade along the length of each wrist. He stared, mesmerized by the alluring red that blossomed from his veins before his vision faded to nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

The beeping alarm clock pulled Sam out of a deep sleep. "Dean," he groaned, "the alarm. Turn it off. Dean!" The noise continued so he tried to roll over to smack at the offending device but found he couldn't move his arms. Pain shot through his wrists and he realized that he was not in a hotel room, but still in his prison, strapped to his bed, with a heart rate monitor beeping at his side. He looked down at his bandaged wrists. Fuck.

Sam dropped his head back onto the pillow, closed his eyes and willed himself back into sleep's embrace, but NotDean's voice destroyed that plan.

"We nearly lost you there, baby brother." Sam heard the scrape of a chair pulling up beside his bed, but he kept his eyes closed and didn't feel any of the usual horror at the endearment. "I have to admit that maybe the nursing kink thing went a little too far. And how you managed to sneak that blade was impressive, but we want to keep you here with us. So there's not gonna be any more of that." NotDean brushed a stray hair out of Sam's face and Sam felt a similar nothingness from the shapeshifter's touch as he did at the creature's words. He just didn't care anymore. There was no point fighting it.

NotDean seemed nonplussed by Sam's lack of response and shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a few long moments before Sam heard him stand up. "I'll let you get back to sleep, Sammy. You need to heal up, so, yeah...get some rest."

Sam merely lay there, saying nothing, feeling nothing, until he sank back into darkness.

When he awoke again it was to a strange pressure in his penis and he looked down in shock at the plump, grey-haired nurse who was inserting a catheter.

"There you are. Sorry, honey, you didn't wake up for a couple days and we have been doing this to prevent a large mess. Did you want to try going on your own this time?"

Sam nodded with wide eyes and the nurse removed the offending tube, unbuckled his arms then helped him to sit up on the edge of the bed, clucking gently at him the whole time, "Such a handsome young man. Why would you want to hurt yourself like that? Poor little duck." Sam just stared straight ahead.

She helped him walk to the toilet with his IV pole and insisted on standing next to him as he relieved himself, saying she was never going to get him up off the floor if he passed out on her. She patted his back sympathetically when the flow hit the irritated tissues and he hissed in discomfort.

The bedding had been changed as they made their way back from the bathroom and Sam sank gratefully into the embrace of the clean, soft linens.

"I'm going to need to strap you down again so you don't tear your stitches while you sleep, Duck." Sam shrugged noncommittally and lay there passively as she buckled his wrists down and placed the call button within reach of his fingers. She gave his head a gentle pat as she left, "It's all gonna be okay, Pet. You'll see."

She didn't see the single tear that escaped the corner of Sam's eye as she turned away.

After a few days, Sam was permitted to sleep without the bindings, but he continued to be completely uncommunicative and only get out of the bed to relieve himself. The sweet nurse came to wash him each day and he didn't resist but didn't help either. He refused to eat so they kept him on the IV as he alternately slept and stared blankly at the ceiling.

NotDean came to hang out by the bed and chat with him but Sam ignored him, generally rolling over onto his side with his back to the creature that wore his brother's face. Nothing the shapeshifter said cracked through Sam's fugue. The thing tried being funny, angry, kind, but not even threatening violence against the sweet nurse had any effect on Sam. Sam didn't even react when the creature curled up behind him on the bed and stroked his hair the way Dean did when they were kids and Sam had had a terrible dream.

It seemed that wearing Dean for so long had ingrained his desire to take care of Sam in the creature so after several weeks of non-response, NotDean decided Sam was going to eat whether he wanted to or not. He sat astride the bigger man's hips, pried his mouth open, and started spooning soup into the opening. Sam tried not to swallow but eventually needed to breathe. He aspirated a bit of the broth and began to cough and sputter, spraying NotDean with the soup. The shapeshifter looked shocked at first and then started to laugh, eyes crinkling in delight, tiny noodles stuck to his face. Eventually, Sam couldn't help it and the corner of his mouth twitched.

NotDean studied Sam's almost-smile carefully, then upended the bowl of soup over his own head. Sam's eyes went wide in surprise then he started to laugh. His whole body shook as he convulsed with laughter, gasping for breath with tears streaming from his eyes.

The shapeshifter grabbed a handful of the noodles from his hair and smeared them onto Sam's face, which instigated a wrestling/soup-smushing match culminating in them both falling off the bed.

They lay on the floor, filthy, panting and chuckling.

"Remember when we had that huge food fight in the kitchen at Bobby's? He was so mad that we had to scrub the toilet with a toothbrush every day for 2 weeks. That may have been the first time he called us Idjits."

Sam's eyes lit up at the memory of Bobby's kitchen covered in flour, cereal, ketchup and God only knows what else before they hardened and dimmed because he wasn't reminiscing with Dean. This thing with his brother's memories wasn't his brother.

"Don't do that. It's not fair," was all he said before he pushed himself to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and started undressing.

"See the lengths I had to go to to get you to shower? You stink, dude. Thanks for finally taking care of that," NotDean called from outside the doorway. "See if you can hold off trying to kill yourself in there this time."

Sam grunted like he'd been punched in the stomach. Had the creature just made fun of his suicide attempt? There was more of Dean in there than he thought.

The shapeshifter poked his face in the door, "Too soon?" he asked. He didn't duck fast enough to avoid the shampoo bottle that hit him square in the forehead.

Sam returned somewhat to his old self after that, though he was definitely more subdued. He slept a lot but got up to read and watch movies, and was responsive to those around him. His wrists healed well, though the scars were obvious and ached sometimes. NotDean hung out with him most of the time, becoming more and more tactile; pressing his knee to Sam's while they sat on the couch, touching his arm or tousling his hair. Sam just accepted the contact without comment. He woke up one morning to the heat of NotDean's body pressed against his back and after the initial weirdness he just sank into the comforting presence and returned to sleep. He clearly wasn't going to get his brother back, so maybe this replica would have to do, though he knew it was only a matter of time until NotDean started pushing again.

"So, what's the deal?" Sam asked bluntly one afternoon as they sat on the couch together drinking beer and watching Terminator for what must be Sam's fiftieth time. A bottle of Jack sat on the table for their planned poker game with the guards later that evening.

"Whaddya mean, Sammy?" NotDean asked, lowering the bottle from his plump lips.

"My time here has been all kinds of fucked up. You're holding me against my will. You've tortured and hurt people to get me to do what you want. You've made me watch countless hours of pornography starring my brother while being serviced by prostitutes. You drive me to the darkest place I've ever been, which is impressive considering the quality time I've spent with Lucifer, and now we're suddenly starring in some sort of buddy bromance comedy. I just don't fucking get what you want from me."

"I want the same thing I've wanted from you from the beginning, Sam," the creature replied, green eyes locked hard on Sam's. "We're gonna fuck. You're gonna do it willingly and you're gonna come calling my name. You do that, and you get to leave."

Sam blinked slowly and leaned his head against the back of the couch. He swallowed hard. "Just do it," he whispered to the ceiling.

NotDean smirked. "What was that, Sammy? I couldn't quite hear you."

Sam sighed, then studied his hands in his lap. "Just do it," he repeated, louder this time. "I want you to do it."

"You want me to do what, Sam?"

Sam stared hard at the shapeshifter, not surprised that the thing wasn't going to make this easy for him. He grabbed the bottle of Jack and took a big swig, then another. He looked straight into the eyes that both were and were not his brother's. "Fuck me." His voice cracked on the words so he cleared his throat and repeated them, "I want you to fuck me," he paused and took a breath, "Dean."

A big grin crossed NotDean's features. "Not as much enthusiasm as I'd have liked, but I'll take it."

NotDean leaned in and pressed his lips to Sam's, working the curved bow of Sam's bottom lip with the tip of his tongue until it opened to him and NotDean licked deep into the whiskey-flavoured heat. Sam groaned as the tongue plundered his mouth, responding to the teasing touch involuntarily. He didn't want it to feel as good as it did, having Dean's soft lips pressed against his own, hearing his brother's sharp intake of breath as Sam tangled his fingers in the back of his cropped hair.

NotDean pulled back and looked deep into Sam's hazel eyes as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head before doing the same to Sam. Sam gasped as the creature pressed their bare chests together and licked and nibbled the side of Sam's long neck before returning to Sam's pink mouth and plunging his tongue deep inside.

The shapeshifter urged Sam back until he was stretched out lengthwise on the couch with NotDean stretched out on top of him, grinding his hard prick against Sam's hipbone. He traced the line of Sam's kiss-swollen lips with his tongue. "Fuck. That mouth," he groaned. "I've been so desperate to get ahold of that mouth ever since I saw it wrapped around Ethan's cock and I suddenly remembered."

Sam flinched and pulled back, so distracted by the reminder of the sickening incident that led him into the dark spiral he was barely climbing out of that it took a moment for the last words to penetrate. "What do you mean, you remembered?"

"Dean had it hidden away behind some pretty impressive barriers, but the memory of the time you blew him when you were what, fourteen, gets this body rock hard in seconds." He leaned in to kiss Sam's stunned expression.

"I was fifteen," Sam nearly stuttered in shock, "and he was pretty much unconscious. How could he possibly remember?"

"He didn't know it at the time it was happening. Just thought the mousy girl who'd been trying so hard to get him alone all evening had finally got up some courage. It wasn't until the next day when he saw you at the table eating cereal, hair falling across your face as you licked your lips that he got a flash of whose pretty pink mouth was stretched obscenely wide around his cock the previous night." The creature continued, as Sam continued to stare at him open mouthed. "Of course, being the bundle of damage and contradiction you know and love, he denied himself ever having that pleasure again by pulling back, giving up drinking, and trying to become the father that John Winchester was never able to be for you after he lost your mother."

NotDean guided Sam's hand under the waistband of his jeans and against the dampness of his boxers. "But as you can see, Sammy, just talking about it has my dick leaking. Dean used to jack himself to that memory so often. He hated himself for it, but he never came quite as hard as he did when he thought about his Sammy's hot little mouth."

Sam squeezed NotDean's prick tentatively as the shapeshifter ground it into his hand. The memory of that fumbling blow-job, the smell and taste of his big brother surged all the blood in his body straight to his cock. He moaned despite himself and fucked his own aching hardness against NotDean's hip.

"I don't know why you fight this, baby brother. You know you want him." The shapeshifter traced the curve of Sam's ear with his tongue before sucking the lobe hard into his mouth.

"Wanted," Sam replied, his breath hitching. He traced small circles over the sensitive bulb of NotDean's leaking cock before popping the button fly, sliding the jeans down, and slotting the shapeshifter's prick against his own. "I was fifteen and crazed with hormones. I idolized Dean and didn't realize until I was older that that that was different than being in love with him. I was so relieved that he never knew it was me that night, though I remember he stopped drinking for like a year after that. I can't believe he's known all this time and never said anything." He grabbed NotDean's ass and pulled him down hard against him, thrusting his hips up to meet the other man's.

"You're lucky you don't understand the way Dean's mind works," the shapeshifter panted. He dipped his head and sucked one of Sam's nipples into his mouth with a bruising pressure. Sam cried out and arched his back off the couch. NotDean smiled wickedly as he looked up at Sam through long eyelashes. "I've got an entirely too-close-for-comfort view of the inside of big brother's brain. Believe me, it ain't rainbows and puppies in here." He trapped the other nipple in his mouth and subjected it to the same abuse until Sam hauled him back up for a crushing kiss.

The incredible friction of their cocks rubbing together combined with the memory of that night had Sam so close to the edge. He whimpered against NotDean's kiss and the creature pulled back. "Gonna come for me, Sammy?" Eyes glinting, the pink tongue dipped down to lap into Sam's open mouth. Sam could only groan inarticulately. "Gonna come for your big brother?"

Sam's hips bucked hard as the orgasm tore through him, nearly knocking NotDean off the couch but the shapeshifter held on tight, following quickly behind Sam's release with his own. NotDean pressed his face into the side of Sam's neck as the pleasure waned, and his tongue darted out to catch a small rivulet of sweat that ran down the corded muscle. Sam held the man who wore his brother's body close in his arms, dipped his chin and kissed the top of the creature's head. He laughed a little, then that laugh turned into a sob then another and another until his body was shaking with grief.

Strangely enough, NotDean didn't laugh or gloat; he merely held Sam, stroking his hair and shushing him until the tears subsided. He then pulled Sam to his feet and dragged him to the shower, turning the water on then leaving him to it with the briefest of kisses.

Sam stared into the mirror once he was alone, trying to see if the new corruption on his soul showed in his face. His dark eyes didn't look any different to him, but considering his past - drinking demon blood and being Lucifer's vessel - dry humping a shapeshifter version of his older brother was probably a fairly minor transgression.

He removed his soiled pyjamas and washed thoroughly, disturbed by the deep surge of pleasure and want low in his belly when he remembered the feel of NotDean's mouth and body against his own. The taste of the other man still in his mouth made him harden again and Sam stroked himself to completion under the streaming water. Only a few tears escaped his eyes when he was finished.

The days went on in a similar pattern with the two men hanging out together which inevitably led to them making out. The twinge of sickness and shame was lessening each time his mouth connected with NotDean's, and he didn't put up a fight when the creature slid down his body one afternoon as they lounged on the bed, pulled Sam's pants off, and wrapped those perfect cock-sucking lips around his shaft.

"Fuck...Dean," Sam moaned, looking down at the deliciously debauched sight then realized with a shock that he had called the shapeshifter Dean, even in his own head that time. NotDean pulled off Sam's prick with a loud slurping noise, a small string of saliva still attached from lip to tip. He grinned Dean's signature, wanton, ate-the-canary grin then swallowed Sam down to the root. He used some of the saliva dripping down Sam's balls and stroked his finger down into the cleft of Sam's ass toward the furled bud at its centre.

Sam gasped, clenching instinctively at the pressure until a talented swirl with the NotDean's tongue on his dick distracted him enough that the other man was able to slide the tip of his finger past the first tight ring of muscle. The shapeshifter slid the finger back out to swipe up more saliva then sank it to the third knuckle into Sam's clenching heat. Sam keened as the wave of pleasure spread from the base of his spine and engulfed him and he shot his creamy load down the creature's throat.

NotDean continued to finger Sam lightly as he swallowed then licked up any of the residual emission. While Sam was insensate, he pulled those long legs over his shoulders and lifted Sam's hips to press his tongue into the snug aperture next to his long index finger. Sam's eyes flew open at the touch of hot tongue to his hole but the shapeshifter held him firm, one strong hand digging bruises into Sam's hipbone until he relaxed into the sensation.

NotDean teased Sam open with his tongue and finger until he was able to slide a second digit in to join the first. He stilled his movements and licked and nipped at Sam's inner thighs as the younger Winchester adjusted to the stretch.

"It's too much," Sam rasped. "I can't..."

"Shh, Sammy. It's okay. You can and you're gonna love it." With the last statement Shapeshifter Dean crooked his fingertips forward until they brushed the spongy bundle of nerves and Sam moaned deep and low. "That's it, baby boy. Open up for me." When he felt Sam press back into the intrusion, NotDean spread his fingers gently and then started thrusting them slowly in and out of Sam's entrance. The creature fucked his hips against Sam's long leg, desperate for some friction against his raging hardness as he took Sam apart with his hand.

Sam was panting and sweating and oh-so-full when he felt his partner reach into the small bedside table to retrieve a bottle of clear fluid Sam hadn't known was there. He heard the snick of the cap opening then felt an increased wetness as the other man's fingers slipped easily back into him. The pressure intensified as Sam felt another finger join the other two in his ass and he whimpered as the pleasure gave way to discomfort again.

NotDean soothed him again as he slowly opened Sam up, fucking him with three fingers until the taller man was bucking and grinding into his hand. "So good, Sammy. That feel good, opening to your big brother like that? Writhing around with three of his big fingers deep in your ass?" he cooed, looking up the length of Sam's body to meet lust-darkened gaze.

"Fuck yeah, Dean," Sam groaned.

Hearing Sam call him Dean without the brief pause he had always used until recently to add a silent "Not" forced the shapeshifter to pull sharply on his balls to prevent himself from unloading in his jeans. He kicked his way out of his jeans and boxers and held gripped the base of his prick with the hand that wasn't buried in Dean Winchester's little brother.

"Fuck, Sammy, you look so fucking beautiful strung-out like that. I wanna make a movie so I can watch you anytime, but that's gonna have to wait until later. You know what's gonna happen now, baby brother?"

Sam just stared up at NotDean with parted lips and hooded eyes, lost to sensation and pulling at his own overgrown hair.

"I'm gonna fuck you now, Sammy."

"Do it, Dean. Want it," Sam panted, knowing how crazy it made the creature when he used his big brother's name.

The shapeshifter withdrew his fingers from Sam's ass and slicked up his cock with plenty of lube. He stretched out along Sam's length and caught the younger man's mouth in a hard kiss, sucking Sam's bottom lip into his mouth. At NotDean's urging, Sam wrapped his ankles over Shapeshifter Dean's back as he pressed the blunt head of his prick against Sam's entrance. The creature pushed forward into the narrow channel, stopping at Sam's grunt of discomfort when he was sheathed half-way.

"Fuck, Sam," the green-eyed man growled, "You're so tight. I knew you were gonna feel so fucking good around my cock, but I never imagined you'd be so hot and so fucking tight."

Sam growled right back in response to NotDean's words and he relaxed enough for the shapeshifter to sink balls-deep into his engulfing warmth.

When Sam's hips began to move experimentally, NotDean began slow thrusts in and out, driving small cries out of the man beneath him. He leaned forward and sucked the skin of Sam's neck into his mouth as he fucked him. Sam moaned and writhed beneath him, the noises intensifying as NotDean angled his hips to target Sam's sweet spot. He tried to hit it every few thrusts, loving the look of unguarded pleasure on the younger man's face with every impact.

"Let me see you touch yourself, Sammy," he commanded, pulling his knees up under him so he was kneeling tall as he fucked deep into Sam's hole. "Wrap that huge hand around your cock and show me how good it feels to be split open by your big brother."

"Dean...Fuck...Yes! Yes! Deannnnn!" Sam yelled as he stripped his cock, teetering closer and closer then plunging over the edge, shooting ropes of come across his chest and abdomen. He clenched hard around NotDean's prick and felt the pulse of the other man's orgasm fill him from the inside just before he felt his chest sprayed with scalding fluid.

Sam opened his eyes in surprise and saw his brother's shocked face as Dean stood at the foot of the bed holding a huge, bloody knife over the beheaded corpse of the shapeshifter.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam opened his mouth to speak but no words came out as NotDean's body toppled to the side and the creature's cock slid out of his ass with an audible squelch.

Sam just stared at his older brother. Dean had aged since Sam last saw him. He looked dangerous; weathered and panting, splattered with his doppelganger's blood as he slowly lowered the giant blade then kicked the naked corpse to the floor.

"Dean," Sam croaked, finally finding his voice.

"Sammy," Dean growled, his tone roughened by shock and exertion, his eyes flickering around the room to take in the entire scene before him.

Hearing Dean say his name made Sam hyper-aware of the display his brother had walked in on. He scrambled back on the bed, desperately trying to cover himself. He felt NotDean's come leaking out of his ass as he moved. "Dean," he repeated, "Oh, God." Then Sam was violently ill over the side of the bed.

When Sam's body stopped heaving Dean was still just standing there at the foot of the bed, jaw set in a hard line. Sam couldn't meet his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd ever find me," he wept, waves of relief alternating with even stronger waves of shame. "I'd given up all hope."

"I'll always find you, Sammy," his brother replied, a trace of warmth in his tone. "I just didn't expect to find...this." He cocked his head to indicate Sam, the bed, and the naked, headless body at his feet.

Sam heaved again at his brother's words, but he had nothing left in his stomach to empty.

"I'd say I can explain," Sam answered between convulsions, "but I don't think I can." He curled into a fetal ball and pulled the ruined sheets over himself, self-disgust radiating from him in waves.

"Doesn't matter, Sammy," Dean cajoled. "What does matter is us getting the fuck out of here and burning this place to the ground." He hesitated, clearly trying to find the words. "Do you want to, um...clean up here or...?"

Sam just moaned and curled tighter in on himself until Dean's sharp tone pierced his shell of self-recrimination.

"We gotta go, Sam."

"Okay," Sam replied, slowly uncurling his long limbs. "Give me five minutes." He knew he had to wash away as much of the creature's fluids as he could, but also knew he'd likely never feel entirely clean again. "But first, could you..?" Sam made a cutting gesture with his hand.

Dean placed the huge blade carefully on the end of the bed and pulled out a small silver knife which he used to slice his forearm.

Sam was so relieved when he saw the thin stripe of red that he flung himself into Dean's arms, heedless of his naked, blood soaked, come-dripping state. Dean hugged him back, awkwardly at first, but then leaned in to it and held Sam close. Both brothers turned at the sound of a throat being cleared and they pulled back, suddenly reminded of Sam's clothing-challenged state. An unfamiliar bearded man stood in the doorway.

"All clear," he drawled in a thick Louisiana accent, then withdrew.

Dean pushed Sam away from him gruffly but with affection, "You clean up. I'm gonna find some clean clothes. It seems like there should be some around here that fit me." Sam's stomach clenched hard at the reference, but he managed to make it to the bathroom without retching.

The two Winchesters sat side by side in the Impala as Dean put as much distance as possible between them and the burning warehouse that had been Sam's prison for the past nine months. Sam was floored when he saw the date on Dean's phone, not believing he could have been held captive for so much time without being able to escape. Dean seemed almost as happy to see Baby as he'd been to find Sam and explained that when they'd lost Sam's trail two towns over, it was tracking the classic car the finally led them to him.

The words that weren't being said were louder than any that the brothers spoke, but Dean cut Sam off any time he started to explain the scene Dean had walked in on. "Doesn't matter, Sammy," was the refrain he kept hearing until he bundled himself into the stale-smelling blanket he'd hauled from the trunk and tried to get some sleep. Sam was still shaking from the shame of what his brother had seen. He'd let Dean down so many times over the years, but he'd never felt like more of a failure than he did in that moment.

The slam of the heavy steel door jarred Sam out of his slumber, and he sat up as Dean held out a bottle of water, a microwave burrito and a couple of pills. He took the water bottle in shaking fingers and frowned at the pills. Dean shook them at him encouragingly, "Listen, Sammy. They were drugging you for a long time. I found detailed records of the doses you were getting so I grabbed a bunch of the medicine. We should wean you off gradually so the withdrawal isn't so bad."

Sam just shook his head at the proffered pills. "I can't, Dean."

"Don't be a martyr, Sam. You had this crap in your system for nearly a year," Dean intoned, frowning.

"You saw what they made me become, Dean." Sam's voice broke. "I can't let them keep their claws in me." He huddled down deeper into the blankets, looking so much smaller than a man of his height should be able to look.

"This is going to be rough, Sam. Demon blood rough."

"I know, Dean, and I kicked that." Sam flinched at the muttered, "Barely," that he wasn't supposed to hear.

Dean pocketed the pills but threw the burrito into Sam's lap. "Take at least a couple bites for me, okay, Sam. I want to try to get you somewhere comfortable before the worst hits and having some food in your stomach will make you stronger."

They drove straight from Texas to Rufus' cabin in Montana, stopping only for Dean to grab a handful of hours sleep in a rest stop before continuing on. Dean left Sam's quaking form in the car as he quickly loaded up on food and supplies then made a beeline for the hunter's property. Sam leaned heavily on Dean as they negotiated the steps and entered the cabin, only making it as far as the couch before Sam collapsed. Dean piled him with blankets and settled in for a long, tough wait.

It took seven days of Sam sweating, shaking, puking, and convulsing to come out the other side. Dean tended to his brother and slept fitfully in a nearby chair, looking nearly as haggard as Sam did at the end of the agonizing week. When it was apparent Sam could look manage on his own, Dean convinced him to move to the camp bed then collapsed face-first on the shabby couch and slept for fourteen hours straight.

Sam was cooking breakfast when Dean roused himself and stared blearily at his younger brother, who was damp from the shower and dressed in real clothes for the first time in more than a week.

"You hungry?" Dean asked, hopefully.

"Not really," came the reply, "but I knew you needed to eat and thought I'd see what I could choke down."

Sam was wearing a long-sleeved stretch t-shirt with the sleeves pushed up as he cooked and Dean's eyes locked on the scars that adorned his younger brother's wrists. Sam caught his gaze, frowned, and quickly pulled the fabric down to cover the marks.

They ate in silence - Dean ate ravenously and Sam nibbled half a piece of toast - then cleaned up. Dean threw all the filthy bedding into the ancient washer then hung it to dry on the outdoor lines as Sam swept. The brothers then sat on the couch to watch a movie with Dean giving Sam worried sidelong glances every now and then until Sam paused the movie and stared pointedly at Dean, who returned his eyes to the screen.

The next few weeks passed in a similar fashion and the Winchesters gradually fell back into their former routine: camaraderie, teasing and gentle abuse mixed with multiple heated arguments (Sam's decision not to look for Dean and that he'd stopped hunting were the main topics). Sam slept a lot and Dean worked on his beloved car, muttering under his breath about the bastards who'd left her neglected under a tarp for most of a year. Sam slowly lost his haunted look though he was still alarmingly thin and Dean stopped reacting to every small sound as if it were about to attack. Anytime Dean tried to bring up Sam's imprisonment the younger man quickly redirected the conversation to Dean's time in purgatory and he gradually learned about Dean's experience in Hell's suburb.

They were playing cards one night when a particularly decisive win cracked Sam's face into the first true smile Dean had seen since his return. The flash of dimples and bright white teeth pierced his heart and something caught in Dean's chest. Sam's smile turned to a look of concern but Dean just held up his hand.

"Shit, Sammy. It's just such a relief to see you smile like that." Dean blinked back the tears that threatened to form. "I wasn't sure I was ever going to see that again, and I'm so glad those fuckers weren't able to take it from you."

Sam frowned and looked at the floor at the mention of his imprisonment and exactly what had been taken from him.

"Stop it, Sam," Dean admonished. "It's not your fault. They did it, not you."

"But I-" Sam started but Dean cut him off.

"I fucked you in Hell," he blurted, eyes widening at his own confession.

"Wha-What do you mean?"

Dean shook his head and studied his fingernails. He took a big breath and continued, "I fucked you in Hell. Every day. Often multiple times a day. So you can just cut it out with the whole shame-spiral thing."

"Dean," Sam breathed.

Dean took a huge swig of beer and stared at the wall straight ahead of him. "I fought so hard at first. I struggled and screamed, tried to think of the worst things imaginable, anything so I wouldn't get hard, so they couldn't make me do that to my baby brother." His deep voice was harsh with emotion, "But they'd pulled the torture from my own brain. They found the memory I tried so hard to hide away. Of you. Your mouth." He ran a hand quickly over his face. "You probably don't even remember."

"You think I don't remember secretly blowing my drunk brother?" Sam stood up and huffed out a breath at Dean's epic cluelessness. "That's the kind of thing that sticks with you."

Dean also stood and glared at Sam. "You know what else sticks with you, Sammy?" he snarled, "Fucking your little brother every day for forty years. Doing every possible sick, disgusting, depraved thing they - and eventually you - can think of to the only person you have ever truly loved in your entire waste of a life. And loving it. I fucking loved it!" he screamed.

They stood staring at one another for a few long seconds then Sam closed the distance between them in three long strides and took Dean in his arms. The older man fought the embrace and pounded his fists against Sam's back until he finally collapsed into the unrelenting grip. "I'm so sorry," Sam whispered in his ear, wrapping one large hand around the back of Dean's head and tucking him in under his chin. "So sorry," he repeated, kissing the top of Dean's head before tilting the shorter man's head back and looking straight into the pools of green he'd worshiped his whole life. "So sorry," Sam said again and pressed his mouth to Dean's, kissing him softly and repeatedly until he felt his brother begin to kiss him back.

Wounded moans escaped from Dean's lips as Sam continued his tender assault. "Shh," Sam reassured him between kisses. "It's okay." They were moving now, Sam walking Dean backwards across the small room as the older man opened his mouth and the kisses became heated and wet. When they reached the small camp bed, Sam pressed Dean down and climbed on top of him.

"What are we...We can't...Sammy," Dean protested, though his pupils were wide with arousal and his tongue continued to plunge into the wet heat of Sam's sweet mouth between words.

"We can, Dean," Sam answered, tracing his thumb along Dean's bottom lip and dragging it down a little. Dean instinctively angled his mouth to capture Sam's digit, closing his eyes and humming lightly as he suckled. Sam gasped but continued, "We've each done this before. Others have forced us because they know it's something we've always wanted deep down. But that wasn't us. They twisted our feelings into something ugly. I don't want ugly. I want something pure. I want to be with iyou/i." His hand dipped lower to brush against his brother's hardness. "It feels like you want it too, but I'll stop if you don't." Sam paused and looked into Dean's eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

Dean replied by slamming his mouth against Sam's and rolling them until he was the one on top. The bed frame creaked ominously under their combined weight and Dean pulled back. Sam looked dismayed as his older brother stood up but grinned when Dean pulled him to his feet. "C'mon. The bed in the attic is a lot bigger and I don't think this one will stand up to what I'm planning to do to you."

They wrestled their way up the narrow staircase trying simultaneously to reach the top first and rid themselves of a few pesky layers of clothing. Stripped down to his boxers, Sam held his arms up in victory when he reached the top and was tackled from behind by Dean, knocking him face-first onto the bed.

"I think I like this view, baby brother," Dean growled into his ear before biting the nape of Sam's arched neck. Sam's cock twitched at the nickname, feeling not the sickness caused by the shapeshifter using the name, but a low, deep twist of pleasure.

Dean thrust his cotton-clad erection in the crease of Sam's ass a few times, eliciting moans from both of them. He then sat back and stroked his spread fingers along the contours of Sam's back before slipping his fingers under the waistband and pulling Sam's boxers down and off. He palmed the firm globes of Sam's ass admiringly before sinking his teeth into one cheek. Sam yelped then rolled over, laughing, and Dean was face to face with Sam's flat abdomen and impressive cock. He touched his tongue unconsciously to his lower lip. "Shit, Sammy," he murmured before ghosting his lips along the velvety length; not licking nor sucking, but mapping out the contours with his perfect, plump mouth.

"Dean," Sam called, interrupting Dean's reverie. "Turn around. I want you too."

A gorgeous, wanton smile crossed Dean's lips as he realized what Sam was suggesting. "I like how you think, Sammy." He stripped his underwear off and reversed his position so his head was still at Sam's cock but his own leaking member was dangling over Sam's face. "Oh fuck," he moaned as Sam's hot mouth encased the head of his prick then sucked him down. Dean could barely breathe, let alone think with Sam's mouth wrapped around him, but he grabbed the fat length in front of him and lapped lightly at the bead of pre-come forming at the slit.

Sam groaned around Dean's thick cock as he felt his older brother's first tentative licks then broader tongue strokes along the length of his shaft. What Dean lacked in experience, he made up for in bravado and within minutes he was attempting to deep throat Sam's prick. "Slow down, Dean," Sam sputtered as the older Winchester gagged around him, "just copy what I'm doing to you." He grabbed the lower shaft of Dean's cock in his hand and swirled his tongue around the head. He felt Dean duplicate the motion and Sam moaned his approval. Dean did the same and the vibrations coursed through Sam's shaft. Sam continued to teach through example and quick study that he was, Dean soon had him gasping and whimpering beneath him.

Sam was gently rolling Dean's balls in his hand when he felt them contract and he opened his throat to swallow the hot, salty load. Dean pulled off Sam's cock for a deep breath just as Sam's orgasm hit and Sam painted his older brother's pretty features with thick strands of come.

Dean turned his head to look at Sam, jaw open in shock. Sam's jaw also dropped open then a predatory gaze crossed his angular features and he dove at Dean, pinning him to the mattress with long limbs and devouring his perfect mouth. Sam licked and nipped at Dean's pink lips until they were red and swollen then he lapped at the streaks of his own come and fed it all into Dean's welcoming mouth. Dean sucked their combined flavour off Sam's tongue with a low moan.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean muttered when he could form words again.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and flopped down, blanketing his brother's body with his own.

They dozed for a few minutes until Dean pushed Sam off to lie face down beside him. "Even scrawny as you are right now, you're still a bit heavy for a blanket, kiddo." Sam just grumbled into the pillow as he lay boneless with pleasure. Dean smacked Sam's bare ass and was rewarded with another lazy grumble. The older Winchester grinned wickedly and moved until he was kneeling between Sam's legs.

He kneaded the firm muscles of Sam's ass then parted the cheeks to display the rosy pucker nestled in the centre. The younger Winchester stirred as the cool air hit and Dean saw the delicate skin clench at the assault. He stroked one finger soothingly over the affronted tissue and then Dean bent forward and pressed his warm tongue to Sam's entrance, smiling as he heard his brother gasp. At Sam's positive response he spread the skin wide with his thumbs and began to work the tight little bud with his tongue. Dean stroked and caressed the area with his hot tongue until the skin became soft and pliant, and he was able to slip the muscle into the musky heat at Sam's core.

"Mmmmm," Sam sighed as he felt Dean's tongue breach the outer ring of muscle and skate inside.

Dean formed his tongue into a dart and fucked it in and out of Sam's quivering hole, spurred on by Sam's cries and whimpers until he was able to slide one finger in to join his tongue. Sam moaned and squirmed and bucked his hips wildly at the welcome invasion.

"More," he panted, but Dean did just the opposite and slid his finger out, leaving Sam feeling empty and abandoned.

"Be right back, Sammy," Dean called over his shoulder as he tore down the rickety wooden staircase and Sam stared incredulously at the flowered pillowcases in front of his face as he heard Dean crash around for about a minute then thunder back up the stairs.

"I should have been a Boy Scout," Dean bragged brandishing a bottle of lubricant. "I stole it from the bunker for my private time. Be Prepared, and all that."

"I don't think you should be mentioning Boy Scouts while holding a bottle of lube, Dean," Sam admonished. "Now get back here while my ass is still open for business."

Dean gave his brother a saucy wink and settled back down between his spread legs. "Now where was I?" he murmured against Sam's skin. "Was I here?" He nipped lightly at Sam's inner thigh. "Was I here?" He drew Sam's balls into his wet mouth. "Or was I here?" He licked a broad stripe over Sam's waiting hole. Sam cursed and Dean grinned. "Ah yes, I thought so," he preened, and jabbed his tongue back inside.

Sam thought there was a good chance he was going to murder his brother, but it was going to have to wait until he stopped doing that with his tongue. Ooh, and that. And that thing with the finger - no wait, Jesus - the two fingers. Sam's brain stopped forming any more coherent thoughts as Dean found that incredible spot inside and Sam just gave himself over to the delicious sensations. He was eagerly riding three long digits when he felt Dean's breath against his ear.

"Turn over for me, Sammy. I need to see your face."

Sam rolled slowly onto his back and opened his legs to bracket his brother's hips with his knees. Dean bent down and kissed him deeply, the swaggering stud expression replaced with a look of tenderness and concern that nearly broke Sam's heart.

"Don't go there, Dean," he remonstrated. "I want this. You want this." Sam hesitated and took a big breath. "Unless you don't want this…."

"I do, Sammy," Dean answered, his forehead pressed against his brother's.

"Well, then cut out the chick-flick crap and fuck my tight ass," Sam commanded.

Dean's pupils flared and he growled deep in the back of his throat. He poured lube onto his fingers and slicked up his cock as Sam watched, chest heaving in anticipation. He guided the crown of his prick to Sam's waiting hole and stroked it back and forth over the opening teasingly until Sam snarled and reached between them to line it up. Dean's breath caught as he pressed forward, watching with wide eyes as the tip slipped inside.

"Fuuuck," he croaked. Dean paused until he got Sam's go-ahead then thrust with slow, shallow strokes, getting barely half of his shaft inside before withdrawing and sliding in again, teasing Sam open slowly. When Sam started pleading for more, Dean continued his gradual advancement, pushing in a little deeper each time then pulling out almost entirely before plunging in again. Sam's breaths came in small punched-out gasps but he was arching his back and tilting his hips up to meet his brother's thrusts. The controlled rhythm was almost as torturous for Dean as it was for Sam, but he kept it up until Sam was fully impaled on his aching cock. Dean pressed his chest against his younger brother's, cupped Sam's faced in his palms, and kissed him hot and slow. "So much better, Sammy. They got it so wrong when they tried to replicate you in Hell. You feel so much better."

Sam clenched and released around Dean's shaft, then he began to move his hips tentatively, bending his knees up to take Dean deeper inside him. Dean whined against Sam's mouth before starting long thrusts into Sam's tight channel. The brothers worked together to find a rhythm and soon their skin was prickled with sweat as their bodies heaved and arched in unison.

Sam hooked his heels over his older brother's shoulders and Dean folded him nearly in half as he dove deeper and deeper into Sam's welcoming heat. Sam wrapped his massive hands around the back of Dean's head to pull his face closer, feeding on his older brother's mouth as Dean pounded him into the mattress. The sharp slap of skin on skin filled the room along with harsh cries and low moans of pleasure.

The minutes stretched into a hazy dream state where nothing existed but heat and skin, tongues and sweat, slickness and slide. Dean grabbed Sam's wrists and brought them to his mouth, tenderly tracing each thin, white scar with his tongue. Sam was quivering by the time Dean gave each a gentle kiss and then pinned Sam's arms over his head, gazing down at his brother through long eyelashes. Eyes locked on Sam's, the older Winchester's lips parted slightly as he slid his cock all the way out of Sam's embracing heat then plunged back in. Sam's breath caught in his chest and his eyes widened as his older brother repeated the movement several times before he began to slam into Sam steadily and rhythmically.

Dean reached one hand down between them to encase Sam's thick cock as he felt himself skating closer and closer to the edge. Sam's back arched off the bed at the added sensation and it only took a dozen or so strokes before he spattered their bellies with his come. Dean watched his younger brother fall apart on his cock and slowed his movements as he milked Sam through his climax and the aftershocks.

As he marvelled at Sam's muscular torso, now painted with come, Dean's dick twitched in its sweet confines and he increased his rhythm. Sam moved languidly beneath him, watching his brother through a haze of bliss as Dean increased his tempo. "Jesus, Sammy, feels so good."

"C'mon, Dean," Sam implored, tongue tracing his bottom lip. "Wanna feel it. Come in my ass. Please."

The wooden headboard slammed against the wall as Dean let go of his ever-present control and fucked his brother full force. His orgasm ripped through him, threatened to split him into his component atoms. Dean's hips stuttered erratically as he continued to ride Sam through his climax until he was incapable of any further movement.

Dean collapsed forward panting against Sam's broad chest as the younger man carefully lowered his long legs and looped them around Dean's bowed pair to lock them in place. They breathed together as their pounding hearts returned to their regular rhythm.

Dean tried to pull away as he felt his cock soften and slide out of Sam, fearing he was crushing his brother under his weight but Sam wouldn't let him out of his grasp.

"You're staying right there, Dean," Sam instructed, his hold unyielding.

"But I'm-"

"Yep," Sam interrupted.

"And you're-"

"Yep," Sam interrupted again.

"But-"

Sam silenced Dean the only truly effective way he knew, by sticking his tongue in his older brother's mouth and kissing him until he could protest no further.

"We'll figure it out when we figure it all out." Sam explained when Dean was too kiss-drunk to speak. Sam paused, reached down, and pulled the sheets up over the two of them.

"Tomorrow."


End file.
